February 10, 1939

Pearl couldn't help it. No matter where she went, no matter how bland she tried to appear, no matter how long it had been since her last movie, people recognized her.

The Girl With the Champagne Hair

She'd seen that nickname, dreamed up by Darryl F. Zanuck in one of his more expansive moods, embossed on a thousand trailers and a million advertisements. And she'd seen that famous portrait of herself, looking coyly over her shoulder, her pink-orange hair (much longer in those days) dappling down her shoulder, a winsome twinkle in her bright blue eyes, her already long nose caricatured into a needle-like point, more times than she could count. And she had to imagine that other people had seen it as often, too.

When she went out, she did her best to be inconspicuous. She'd cut her hair short and usually wore it under a hat, so it was barely noticeable. She dressed drably and functionally most days, unless there was some reason to draw attention to herself. This morning, as she prepared for a quick cup of coffee, she wore a frumpy blue-and-white dress, her telltale hair hidden beneath a pillbox hat. Hoping that it made her look as plain and unappealing - as anonymous - as possible.

Which was a sacrifice in some ways, because she'd always liked wearing fancy dresses and flashy jewelry, enjoyed the flash of cameras and blur of reporters, sometimes even didn't mind attending an event on the arm of a leading man or director or producer (provided, of course, that they didn't try anything untoward, or display an affection that she couldn't return).

A sacrifice, but a necessary one.

Because nowadays, when people thought about Pearl White, they remembered the abrupt cancellation of her last picture, the whispers that she and the studio tried to keep quiet. And the one that nearly made it to print anyway.

DAMES OR DYKES?

HOLLYWOOD STARLET IN LOVE NEST WITH LADY LOUNGE SINGER

Even by the standards of Hollywood gossip columnists, the unadorned slur seemed especially cruel and malicious. It still seared Pearl's memory. Her jaw hit the floor when her agent Jack showed her the headline.

"Don't worry, Pearl," Jack tried to assure her between nervous puffs on his cigar. "Studio's shutting this paper down before it hits the press. They're gonna fucking fire the hack who printed this and make sure she never works again."

Pearl didn't care whether it was stopped. She found the headline mortifying. Because she knew, even if the story was squashed and buried and the papers pulped, the whispers would get around anyway. In the press. Among people in Hollywood. Among those in the Breen Office and Legion of Decency who kept their eyes and ears peeled for anything to turn their noses up at, anything vaguely indecent to block a picture or wreck someone's career.

And she hated it for another, more obvious reason.

Because it was true.

"Coffee and newspaper, please."

"Hey, aren't you...?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you look like an actress I saw in some movie awhile back. It was a Western or something..."

"Must have mistaken me for someone else."

"No, I don't forget a face. Hey Ernie, what was that Western we saw with Randolph Scott last year? The one with the cattle barons shooting each other?"

"Christ, that could be a million of 'em. Be more specific."

"Well, get out here. Doesn't this lady look like the dame from that movie. You know, the one with the pink hair."

"...Wow. Man Scott, you're right. Forget the face, that hair..."

"All right, you've got me. It's Pearl, Pearl White. Nice to meet."

"Man, it's not often we get a movie star in here."

"You're too kind. I'm not really a movie star anymore..."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll get another job. Gal like you they're not gonna keep on the bench for too long. Hey, would you mind giving an autograph? My kid will go nuts if he finds out I had an actress in here and didn't..."

"Maybe some other time. Kind of in a hurry today."

"Sure. Which paper do you read?"

"You wouldn't happen to have EPIC News, would you?"

"EPIC? Which one's that, the Hearst paper?"

"Never mind. Daily News, please."

"Comin' right up."

"Hey, uh, Miss White..."

"Pearl's fine."

"Pearl, wow. Me, on a first name basis with a movie star! Anyway, erm, what's Randolph Scott like?"

"He's a nice enough fella, I suppose. Really good on a horse."

"Yeah?"

"Much better than me, at least. Though that's not saying anything. I'm sure you heard about my finger..."

Pearl didn't mind the small talk overmuch. Two working stiffs like Scott and Ernie didn't keep their eyes too close to the scandal sheets, and weren't likely to bring the . It was a bit awkward - she never knew quite how to handle people who regarded her with such awe, but it was a nice reminder that she mattered.

She sipped her coffee in a booth, trying her best to remain incognito (since Ernie had to take off before he could ask her whether Brian Donlevy was as mean as he seemed), dribbling a little coffee on the front page of her paper and trying to smear it out with a napkin. She saw the usual dread stories about the world events crowding the margins: CHAMBERLAIN PLEDGES PACT WITH FRANCE; MINORCA FALLS TO FRANCO: NATIONALIST OFFICIALS SEEKING ASYLUM IN FRANCE; HITLER AND CZECH GOVERNMENT FAIL TO REACH NEW AGREEMENT.

And felt sick to her stomach, knowing she couldn't do anything about any of them.

Same old, awful world, Pearl thought sadly, stirring her coffee. Fascists are trying to kill everyone and no one in this country gives a damn. Because it could never happen here, even though there are millions of lost souls in this country who'd welcome a dictatorship. And many more who hate Jews and Negroes and Communist and anyone else who's different and would follow anyone who found a way to blame things on them.

Or, she thought, because it wasn't good business. Which is an excuse she'd heard, many times, about projects that expressed an opinion on world events being cancelled by studio.

Sure, there was the occasional shit heel who liked Hitler and Mussolini in Hollywood, but they were usually actors and screenwriters of dubious politics. She didn't give a shit what Ward Bond or Adolphe Menjou or Mary Pickford thought about anything, though she realized that many did. She was more irritated at the press barons and industrialists and politicians who still winked an eye at Hitler, even after Kristallnacht and Munich and Spain and everything else awful, and acted like people who got worked up about it were irrational, or fanatics, or that there was something wrong with being angry about the death of Western Civilization at the hands of jack-booted barbarians. That possessing a conscience was some kind of mental illness.

She'd heard all the arguments a million times, from a variety of people. Never convincing, and rarely in good faith.

After all, do you really want another war? Wasn't the last one with Germany awful enough? Why do you insist on demeaning or antagonizing them? And anyway, aren't the Communists worse?

But the cowards got to Pearl most of all. The producers who claimed that they hated the Nazis but wouldn't run a picture dimly, vaguely, even allegorically critical of the Fuhrer and his Italian sidekick for fear of losing oversees lucre or offending political. The ordinary people who didn't want any disruption in their daily lives, and so let awful things happen. And worst of all, the polite circles who couldn't stand fascism and hated what was happening Over There but found it more upsetting that someone might refer to Hitler as a buffoon or a clown, or when President Roosevelt called Nazi sympathizers Copperheads.

How does that help, they'd ask, not really wanting an answer. Won't that just make them angrier? And it might even alienate some other people who are on the fence.

Better for democracy to die than for people to get upset.

Though really, Pearl mused to herself, what had she done about it? Keep making money for being pretty while doing nothing? Sit here and pass judgment on others in her head? Maybe stopped talking to a costar or a stage hand who suggested that maybe Hitler was a little rough but Mussolini and Franco were more reasonable?

Pearl's mind swirled around for a moment, allowing her guilt and helplessness to consume her. And horrifying images flashed through her mind. Nightmares which seemed more credible every day.

She pictured Stukas dive-bombing helpless American towns and armies of enemy soldiers attacking.

She pictured Hitler and a chastened President Roosevelt negotiating the German occupation of America.

She pictured Dr. Goebbels shaking William Randolph Hearst's hand at San Simeon as they negotiated circulation rights in the New German World Empire.

She pictured Brownshirts marching down Sepulveda Boulevard, and her standing meekly aside, doing nothing (or worse, hiding) as they killed her friends and coworkers.

She pictured herself getting caught.

She felt the table shake and realized that she'd subconsciously clenched her hand into a fist and punched the table, splashing more coffee on the table. Frantically, she began dabbing it with her napkin, feeling her heart race with terror, hoping no one had noticed her little outburst.

Fortunately, there wasn't anybody else in the restaurant except Scott, who'd gone back in the kitchen.

Pearl took a few deep, heavy breaths and turned back to the paper. Beneath the spreading brown liquid, she saw another headline that seemed more .

LOCAL LAND DEVELOPER FOUND DEAD IN SAN GABRIEL VALLEY

FORMER CITY COUNCIL MEMBER HAD TIES TO DIAMOND COMPANY

Pearl skimmed the article, only passively interested at first. Politics in Los Angeles County were as corrupt as sin, and there was always some feud over land ownership or water rights or oil pipelines that went on with dizzying regularity. Business-related murders came and went with the passing of the seasons. Pearl wished she could be shocked or disgusted, but it couldn't faze her. Just another rotten thing she'd learned to live with.

Still, the connection to the Diamonds intrigued her. She knew they were one of, perhaps the only, company run by women in the United States, and would find them admirable if their politics weren't so abominable. She knew their leader, a stern, matriarchal spinster named Aurelia Diamond, had chaired the local chapter of the American Liberty League, the rich man's organization devoted to destroying the New Deal.

So she kept reading. And hit upon another nugget buried within.

"Mr. Schroeder, before resigning from the Diamond Company, had cited the organization's politics and business connections as a reason for their dispute. Additionally, he noted that the land was adjacent to property owned by William Dudley Pelley, leader of the so-called Silver Legion or Silver Shirts..."

Christ. Another fascist. And this one, right here in L.A.

And connected to one of California's biggest businesses.

Which didn't really shock Pearl. But the immediacy of the threat made her heart race, and her guilt compound with fear.

She knew Pelley slightly, back when she was just starting in the industry and he was still peddling screenplays to Tom Mix and Lon Chaney. Struck her as a pompous man with a weird little van dyke beard and a constantly harried, frazzled attitude, rushing from one moment in life to a next, chased by invisible enemies. Since then, by his own account, he'd died, gone to Heaven, and received instructions to rescue America from Jews and Communists by making himself into the American fuhrer. Funny how that works.

Most people considered Pelley a crank or a nutcase, and he probably was. But then, so was Hitler once upon a time. And since he had thousands of uniformed followers, many in California, Pearl felt laughing at him wasn't an option.

Especially if he had the Diamonds on his side.

It took a moment for her mind to connect the threads. But she tossed the newspaper aside and bent down over the table, trying to think. Trying to untangle everything. And trying to fight down her inevitable internal monologue.

Well, Pearl, you wanted a chance to fight fascists? You wanted to make a difference?

Well, maybe God and the Daily News have just handed it to you.

The question remained how? And Pearl didn't have any clue.

"Oh my goodness! Honey, it's Pearl White!"

Pearl snapped out of her thoughts and saw a young, starstruck couple beaming at her from the next table. She forced a smile, pushing her crowded thoughts to the back of her mind.

For now.